


nightmares and other scary things

by notmadderred



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Emotional Baggage, Gen, Light Angst and Feels, M/M, Unresolved Things But It Got Long, eldritch tWO!, mentions of trauma, this took me a hot minute to write omg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 20:29:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notmadderred/pseuds/notmadderred
Summary: Tucker had shoved the laundry from tonight in the washer and was sitting in the kitchen, glaring in the general direction of the refrigerator. There was definitely something going on. Could they be haunted? Fuck, if ghosts were real,allof them were fucked. Fucking figures that they’d somehow end up on a haunted moon. What the fuck even.
Relationships: AI Program Epsilon | Leonard Church & Agent Washington, Agent Carolina & AI Program Epsilon | Leonard Church, Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons, Franklin Delano Donut & Agent Washington, Lavernius Tucker & Agent Washington, Michael J. Caboose & Leonard L. Church, Michael J. Caboose/Leonard L. Church
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	nightmares and other scary things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WinterWolf649](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WinterWolf649/gifts).



> HI HI HI I HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS I FINALLY WROTE IT I FINALLY DID IT I HOPE YOU ENJOY AND HAPPY QUITE-BELATED GIFT <3

When Tucker woke up for the fifth night in a row, his sheets soaked in sweat from another fucking nightmare, he figured it was time to probably do something.

Normally, sure, he’d do the laundry (not the only reason he’s washed sheets in the middle of the night, bow-chicka-bow-wow), and he wouldn’t say anything. He’d move on. Nightmares were a thing everyone dealt with, especially all of them with all the shit they’d been through. But several times when he’d gone to wash his sheets, he’d run into some other fucker at one point or another. 

Wash was the first. Not a surprise. He looked exhausted, the bags under his eyes more pronounced than ever. He didn’t even give a shit that Tucker saw him: he glanced over, looked at Tucker’s sheets, glanced back up, and said, “Yep.” 

Not even a ‘Do you wanna talk about it,’ thing, which WashingDad was pulling out more and more often. Just fucking _Yep_ , and walking out of the room.

Simmons was second. Tucker had almost run into him as he barralled into the laundry room, annoyed (obviously) he was having to wash his sheets again. Simmons did his whole yelping and diving out of the way thing before looking at Tucker with cow eyes. Tucker stared back. Then Tucker narrowed his eyes. “Since I doubt you and Grif have banged yet, I’m gonna go out on a limb and assume you had nightmares.”

“Wha--! No I-- I mean we haven’t banged ye-- I mean not yet because it’s not-- we’re not-- it’s nothing like-- nightmares!” Simmons threw his hands into his hair. “Fucking nightmares.”

“Same, dude. It fucking sucks.” He shoved his own sheets into the second washing machine. 

Simmons was quiet for a moment. Then, “They’ve been getting worse lately. It’s not just me. Sarge blew a few shotgun blasts through his wall last night, and Grif…” His face contorted in a way Tucker wasn’t often privy to, seeing as they basically never talked alone together. “Him, too.”

Tucker let this information settle in his head. “I think Wash is getting worse. Caboose has been kinda standoff-ish, so maybe him, too. And who the fuck knows with Lina.” He wrinkled his nose. “Shit, I should probably make sure Caboose hasn’t been sweating through his bedsheets. Fuck knows he’d probably just throw them in the corner.”

“Gross.” Simmons blanched. “Grif is probably just sleeping in it.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.”

“He’s done worse.”

Tucker scoffed and shook his head, closing the machine and turning it on to run. “I never knew ‘opposites attract’ was an actual thing before I met you two dumbasses. Seriously. Just fuck already.”

He left before he could hear Simmons sputter and make excuses. None came. 

He’d done Caboose’s sheets that night, too.

Third was Grif. He watched Tucker walk in, drawled, “Yeah, I do my fucking laundry sometimes,” and left before Tucker could get a word in. Grif always managed to move faster than looked possible.

Tucker had shoved the laundry from tonight in the washer and was sitting in the kitchen, glaring in the general direction of the refrigerator. There was definitely something going on. Could they be haunted? Fuck, if ghosts were real, _all_ of them were fucked. Fucking figures that they’d somehow end up on a haunted moon. What the fuck even.

“Fifth night of nightmares for you?” came a voice. Tucker’s first thought was _ohfuck_ , his second thought was _I knew it was a fucking ghost,_ and his third thought came off his tongue: 

“Carolina? What the fuck?”

She emerged from the corner with a cup of coffee in hand. “Tucker,” she said, nodding. “None of you all have been sleeping well. I’m not used to having late-night visitors.”

He blinked. “What are you doing here?”

“Nightmares,” she said, and took a sip of her coffee. “Just like everyone else. I’ve been working out during the night to try and help, but it isn’t doing anything.” She stepped closer and placed her mug on the counter before Tucker. He wasn’t sure if that was an invitation to have some, but best not to test it. In the light, he could make out more of her messy ponytail. Her cyan tank top was lined with sweat. “Something’s wrong,” she said.

“No shit,” he said, and quickly backpedalled at the dead look she gave him. “I just mean that everyone’s been pretty fucked up lately. Nightmares for everyone. People keep doing laundry every night, and not for fun reasons. There’s no way anyone here is getting laid more often than me.”

“Tucker.”

“I’m just sayin’!”

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, a half-scowl on her face. He tried not to be reminded of Church. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” she eventually grounded out, “but we need to fix it.”

Fuck it. He grabbed her coffee and drank the rest of the cup. Once the taste hit him, he almost threw up. “What the fu-- just how much fucking sugar do you put in there!”

“However much I want. You should try to get some sleep, Tucker. We can talk about it in the morning.”

“You say that _after_ I finished off that disgusting coffee.”

“It’s not disgusting.”

“Tell that to my dying taste buds.”

He was pretty sure he saw the corner of her lips go up. “Go rest.”

Tucker made a face. “ _Fine._ I’ll try. But I’m seriously fucking sick of the nightmares.”

“We all are,” she said, and then dipped her head in the direction of his room in dismissal.

He took the out.

It was totally normal that Simmons and Grif had slept in the same bed for three nights in a row now.

It was also totally normal, Simmons reminded himself, that when either of them started having those awful fucking nightmares again, they woke each other in gentle, hushing tones, rubbed each others arms, made sure they were okay, and went back to sleep with Simmons tucked into Grif’s chest.

Normal maybe-friend things.

They were currently pressed side-by-side on one of the chairs in the kitchen, neither of them mentioning or acknowledging that any of this was happening because of course they wouldn’t because it was normal.

Simmons squinted, suddenly remembering that he was technically in the middle of a conversation. 

“It’s bad,” said Wash, sounding resigned, “but do we have any idea what’s causing it? People get used to nightmares, as bad as that sounds. We just have to be reasonable: is this a problem with a solution?”

“Every problem has a solution,” Carolina countered.

Wash pursed his lips. “Maybe. If any of you have ideas…” He gesticulated broadly at everyone. “I’ll take them.”

Caboose raised his hand. “Hi, hello, thank you for coming.” He cleared his throat and shifted on his chair. “The animals are going away.”

“What?” said Simmons before he could help it. Grif’s elbow dug painfully into his side. He tried to ignore it.

Caboose stared at him like he was an idiot. “The animals are going away. There are less animals. I try to talk to them because they are my friends, and they are leaving. I think, um, that they are scared, too.”

“What do you mean, ‘going away?’” Tucker asked, fashioning air quotes. “They’re packing their bags? Did they tell you or something?”

“They cannot talk, stupid Tucker,” Caboose rebuked with a pointed glare. Tucker and Wash shared a look at that as Caboose continued, “I mean that they are leaving. There are less animals now, and I think there will be no animals soon, and I do not want that because I like the animals. I want them to stay. It is mean that they are scared.”

“Mean?” Tucker pushed. Kudos to him for still going even with Caboose annoyed as he was. “Are you saying that someone is being mean to the animals?”

Caboose tucked in his shoulders and shifted sharply in his chair so he was no longer facing Tucker. “I do not know. But it is mean.”

“We can look for the animals,” Carolina suggested.

Simmons shoved Grif’s elbow away. Grif returned it. Simmons sighed.

Caboose bit his lip. “Um. Yes. I think that would be nice. We can look for the animals.”

This was a dumb idea. Simmons probably didn’t have to tell Carolina that.

Whatever. It would keep everyone distracted for a day.

“We can go in twosomes,” Donut piped up, and Simmons physically jumped. The man had been quiet this whole time. “I’d be more than happy to explore the crevices of Iris with Caboose!”

“I’m with Simmons,” said Grif before immediately grabbing Simmons by the shoulder and steering them both out the door. Simmons barely bit down a yelp from the suddenness of it all.

As soon as they were outside, he shook Grif off. “What the fuck was that?”

Grif shoved his hands in the pocket of his hoodie, looking carefully unbothered. “Everyone’s being weird in there. Of course I wanted to leave. Now we get to sit back and--”

“I’m gonna look for animals.”

“Wha-- _Simmons._ You’re joking, right?” When Simmons in fact went stalking away, Grif stumbled after him. “ _Simmons._ ”

“We’re doing this.”

“But why! You know this is all stupid.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t move your elbow when we were sitting, and I’m annoyed. So I’m gonna look for some fucking animals, and then I’ll tell Caboose _you_ found them, and then he’s gonna wanna--”

“You wouldn’t. You don’t have the balls.”

Simmons glanced back. “You sure you wanna test that?”

Grif stared at Simmons. Simmons stared at Grif.

A split-second before Simmons’ resolve broke, Grif sighed, his shoulders slouching miraculously further. “Fine. Whatever. I hope we find snakes.”

“We’re not finding snakes!”

Grif stepped to Simmons’ side and nudged him. “If we find anything that Caboose couldn’t, it’s gonna be snakes.

“Fuck you, Grif.”

They marched on, not exactly looking around effectively. Simmons was fairly certain this counted as a leisurely stroll through the grass, or something cliche like that. They were together, like always, bantering, like always, only they weren’t standing still which made this different which meant Simmons had some nervousness but y’know that was fine. They basically cuddled at night. It wasn’t _technically_ cuddling because neither of them talked about it, which cuddling would entail, plus they weren’t friends or more or anything stupid like that, which cuddling would _also_ entail. So it was fine, and this was less fine because it felt like a romantic walk on the beach. But if he didn’t acknowledge it, then it wasn’t. Right? Right. This was fine.

“Cave,” he sputtered.

Grif’s mouth was already half open in the lazy way he did when drawling. Shit, Simmons must have panic-zoned-out when he was talking, _fuck_. “What?” said Grif.

“What?” said Simmons. Then he remembered what his stupid fucking mouth said. Cave? Where was-- 

He pointed, and there was a cave there. Huh. “Cave.”

Grif followed his gaze to where he was pointing. “Absolutely not.” He crossed his arms. “Caves mean bats, and I’m not dealing with fucking _bats_.”

Simmons was frozen for a moment longer, just pointing and staring like a fucking moron. Then, “I’m going in the cave there’s probably animals there and I dunno if Caboose usually goes in caves so maybe he didn’t check here and all the animals are just--”

“Hiding in a fucking cave with bats? No, they’re not. And Caboose looks _everywhere_. We don’t need to go in the cave.”

“I didn’t say ‘we.’ I said ‘I.’”

“And we both know that means ‘we.’”

Simmons stared at Grif. Grif stared at Simmons.

Simmons broke eye contact and started walking to the cave. Certainly Grif knew they weren’t supposed to say that shit out loud. It was just supposed to be silently known and agreed to between them, never to see the light of day because that made it more real which meant there would be complications and messiness and shit that he didn’t want to talk about or address in any form so long as he was able to do that.

He ignored the sputtering complaints that came from behind him, opting instead to stroll right into the cave and _oh God what was he thinking._

“Uh,” said Simmons, and the uncertain cadence of it rebounded off the walls and replayed back at him. Even the fucking cave was mocking him for his awkwardness. “Hello?”

_Hello?Hello?Hello?Hello...hello...hel…_

Welp, if something hadn’t known he was there before, it definitely knew now.

“Simmons!” came Grif’s voice from the entrance. Simmons turned on his heel to see Grif, crouching down and peering in, looking positively peeved even with the shadows largely covering his features. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I already said--”

“You don’t even have a flashlight.”

Simmons turned that over in his head. Then he pulled out his phone -- it was always at hand, even if he never used it -- and turned on the flashlight. “I have a flashlight.”

“I hate you.”

Simmons started walking in further. “Hello?” he repeated.

“You’re gonna get yourself killed!”

“Helloooo?”

There were several soft curses behind him, and then suddenly a large hand was on his shoulder. Simmons bit down a yelp as Grif said, “You’re the worst. And don’t lose me. I don’t have a charged phone on me and am not getting lost. At the first sign of bats, I’m leaving, and I’m taking you with me.”

Simmons rolled his eyes. “Got it.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Yeah. I know.”

Grif remained tight to his side as Simmons continued to lead the way. For all intents and purposes, it just looked like an empty fucking cave. Not a sound from anything that wasn’t Grif complaining or Simmons snapping back at him.

They reached what looked to be a fork in the system. When Simmons turned the flashlight to the left side, it seemed to stop at a dead end. “Well, I guess that means we’re--”

The left side moved.

Or, rather, something within the left side moved, but it was big enough that it felt like the whole space had moved instead.

What the fuck.

Grif’s grip tightened, and he stepped back, pulling Simmons with him. “Holy shit holy shit,” he was saying quietly, “it’s a mass of bats isn’t it it’s a fucking herd of bats and--”

It moved forward a bit, opening its large, rounded eyes to reveal a sharp green, angling toward yellow. In the light, Simmons could make out a dark, serpentine face ending in a point almost like a soft beak, with smooth features running back to a long, lean neck and--

His knees went weak. Grif’s hold was the only thing that kept him from falling entirely.

It was a massive snake.

He couldn’t see the rest of the body, not beyond the head and stretch of neck with black scales sucking in the darkness even further, but it was a fucking _snake_ oh God and it was huge it was gonna eat them and no one would ever know this massive fucking snake with a massive head like the basilisk from _Harry Potter_ and oh God he didn’t want to think about that either because that scared the shit out of him and he already had one snake in front of him and he was going to die but he couldn’t move oh God oh God oh Go--

“Holy shit,” said Grif, almost in awe.

The snake’s head tilted, and it blinked, disappearing for a moment with those green eyes.

“Did you eat all the fucking animals on Iris?” Grif continued.

He was crazy. He was interrogating a _snake_ and they were about to die and this was so pointless why the fuck did he--

“No,” said the snake.

Waitwhat. What. It was talking he-- what.

It paused, staring at Grif. Grif released his hold on Simmons, and Simmons fell to the floor only to crab-scramble back a few paces.

“I think I scared them,” it continued.

“What? Why?”

_What the fuck was Grif thinking he--_

“Because I wanted to.” It sounded incredulous. “Why else?”

“You made it sound like an accident. You _thought_ you scared them, but you aren’t sure.”

“I wanted to. Intent only means so much when you get what you want.”

Its voice was distant, a soft masculine tone forced to a point. A weird dichotomy Simmons would consider thinking about, except he didn’t want to because he wanted out. His legs were numb. He tried to lift a hand to tug on Grif’s pant leg, but he couldn’t even manage that.

“What the fuck are you talking about? Are you gonna eat us or what?”

A whimper-whine forced its way out of Simmons’ throat.

The snake turned to him. 

Bile crawled up his throat.

“No,” said the snake. “I’m just scaring your friend, it seems. He’s afraid of snakes, especially ones that don’t quite look real.” It cocked its head. “An easier play for me, but certainly still fun.”

Grif took a step back. “ _What the fuck are you._ ”

Grif had thought this was a normal alien. There was no way this was a normal fucking alien.

“A manifestation of fear, as I currently exist. Right now, a serpent. Hard to decide between that and a very large bat, only Simmons is more scared of snakes than you are of bats.”

“How…” Simmons choked. How did it know his name. How did it know their fears.

The snake shifted forward. “I could’ve become your father, Simmons.” Its mouth shifted in a way that felt like a smirk. “You should be thanking me.”

Grif snarled and marched at it like an idiot. “You sick fucking--”

“It would have been hard to represent a dead army surrounding you, Grif. Moving pieces, and all that. I suppose I could kill all your friends to make it real, but it’s fun to keep things alive and afraid. But, _boy_ , how fun it would have been for you to know that they would all only be dead because that was exactly what you were afraid of. A funny way of the fault remaining yours.”

Grif froze. “You shut the fuck up.”

“Oh, right. I’d be killing your sister if I did that, too. Isn’t that neat?”

Grif didn’t move for several moments. Then he picked up the phone from the floor -- Simmons hadn’t remembered dropping it, but the flashlight had been face up -- and turned to Simmons.

The snake’s head receded slightly, and it released a small, pleased hum. 

Grif hauled Simmons up, pulling him arm across his back and half carrying Simmons by his side with one arm. “We’re leaving.”

Everyone was back except Grif and Simmons.

Carolina was eyeing the door hawkishly. She couldn’t help it. The nightmares always felt too real, and this? This was far too much like them.

Wash leaned over to gently bump his shoulder against hers. “They’re fine,” he said quietly. “They always are.”

“I know,” she said, trying to steady her breathing. She closed her eyes. “It’s just--”

The door slammed open, hitting the wall with a sharp bang. Carolina barely resisted jumping in her seat.

“Where’s Kai?” said Grif. 

The looks of Grif and Simmons’ faces were enough to make her spine snap to attention. “In her room, sleeping,” she said. “Why. What happened.”

Grif deposited Simmons at the door, and Simmons half-fell, gripping at the nearest counter to maintain his footing. 

Wash went after Grif. Carolina stepped up to Simmons, who was looking pale and sweaty. Without a word, she slung her arm under his shoulders and guided him to the nearest chair. He dropped into it roughly, muttering a stammered, “Thanks.”

Her instinct was to once against demand what happened. She took a breath. “Can you talk about what happened?” she said.

“This doesn’t look good,” Tucker added in the background, and Caboose hummed in what may have been agreement. 

She heard the distinct sound of a shotgun cocking. “Where’s the enemy,” Sarge bellowed, “so I can knock ‘em into next century? And by next century, I mean death!”

Simmons closed his eyes.

Donut padded over before putting a fresh glass of ice water on the table next to Simmons before standing back, sharing a concerned look with Carolina. She wasn’t exactly sure how to reciprocate the sheer level of emotion on his features, so she stared for a second, blinked, winced exaggeratedly, winced internally at that, then looked back at Simmons. “Simmons?” she said.

“The cave, um. A… a cave and a thing-- a- a snake thing but not a snake th--”

The hairs on the back of Carolina’s neck tingled a split-second before Caboose jumped up and shouted, “You found the animals? Where is the cave I would like to see the animals!”

Simmons turned slightly green. “You do _not_ want to-- it’s not really a sn- snake. It’s some fucking-- it-- it’s _evil_ and scared all the other animals and was trying to scare us and it knew our fucking names and could talk and was just fucking awful _oh God._ ”

Caboose’s face tightened, and he shifted his jaw, seeming to take in both the information and Simmons’ current emotional state. He risked a glance toward Tucker before sitting back down.

Okay, well. Carolina had recently learned that Simmons was deathly afraid of snakes, so until she learned what Grif’s side of the story was, she had to assume that fear was clouding at least part of Simmons’ logic.

As she awkwardly shifted the cold water closer to Simmons, Sarge huffed and went storming out the door, no doubt prepared to aimlessly look for any cave with a snake in it. She’d stop him, only the odds of him finding the same cave Grif and Simmons had on the moon was slim to none, even for… well, him.

“Right, uh, thanks. Donut. Agent Carolina.” He grabbed the water and took a sip before setting it back down.

“... I mean, _seriously_ , bro! Of course I’m fucking alive, that doesn’t explain why you were fucking shaking me around like that what the fuck! You know I’m a hard sleeper, asshole! I was just fucking up late because I was watching p--”

“Shut up,” Grif hissed as he stalked into the kitchen, hands buried in the pocket of his hoodie. “I don’t care.”

“Well, I at least deserve a fucking explanation!” Her gaze flicked around the kitchen before reaching Carolina, and her expression shifted. “Sup, bitch, you look _exhausted_.”

Carolina huffed. “Thanks. Grif, did you and Simmons run into a giant talking snake that picked out your fears?”

He blanched.

Oh. Shit. She’d been expecting him to refute that. Carolina reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Alright, well, Sarge just went to look for the snake, so we--”

“It’s not a snake. I mean, it _was_ but… ugh, whatever. I’m not going after Sarge. You all can deal with that shit. I’m gonna eat some pizza and take a fucking nap.”

She narrowed her eyes. There was no way Grif would actually be sleeping any time soon. “Where’s Wash?” she said instead. Simmons was drinking more water. Good. “He went with you to--”

“He left,” said Grif. “Came back this way a few minutes ago. Maybe he went after Sarge.”

“I’ll check on them!” Donut said, raising a hand. “I love coming all kinds of places with people, even if it’s a deep, wet cave with _big_ snakes inside!”

Carolina thought about it. She wanted to go, to make sure they were okay and safe. But Simmons was also here, shaking like a leaf and barely looking up, slouching heavily in the chair. She knew that she tended to make -- while not a _calming_ presence, at least a _secure_ one. And with the way Grif and Simmons were acting, she figured it was better to have someone here to protect everyone in case the thing came after them. The others had Wash. “I’ll stay here. You can go, Donut.”

He saluted her with a flourish before jogging out the door.

Carolina closed her eyes.

Maybe a small part of her was just too afraid to admit that she was terrified of what fears that thing could reveal to her.

“Three people visiting me in one day? I’m flattered.”

Sarge squinted against the darkness. Even with his excellent night vision -- something every hardened soldier has -- he couldn’t see where the damned snake was. “Flattered? Hah! You’re about to get _flattened instead_ , son! Now reveal yourself!”

The snakey-thing snickered. The origin was definitely coming from the left side of the fork, so he aimed his shotgun there.

A head began to emerge, and he pointed the shotgun directly at it, ready to blast right between the snake’s two eyes and render those scales as useless as a horse in a musical number.

Instead, he saw a soft nose and two furry ears emerge.

Sarge hesitated. It looked like a slightly oversized deer -- a doe, to be more precise -- with black fur and large, dark eyes reflected with a sharp green. He blinked, thinking something was wrong with his vision, but the green remained.

“What?” it said, angling its head. “I really thought a true soldier such as yourself wouldn’t hesitate to shoot a _deer_. Isn’t that right, Sarge?”

He bared his teeth at the thing. “Mind tellin’ me what you’re doing as a deer now? Scare yourself too much and had to become somethin’ soft and cuddly before I blasted you back to dust?”

“It’s touching how much you care about those you serve with,” it answered instead. “Even before you were stationed with those three feeble-legged fawns. People have always been an interesting thing for you. Fun to kill in theory, but you can rarely ever _actually_ do it. Fascinating.”

“I don’t fail,” Sarge growled. “I can tell you every--”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it.” The thing shook out its head. “You love humanity, don’t you? You see it as something beautiful, but you can’t help but want to kill it even as you want nothing more than for it to live. Just like your hunting days, right? Like your father always said, you’re too soft to--”

Sarge took the shot.

It blasted through the thing’s skull, obliviating it in a second. Black fur tore back with thick flesh, the skull splitting and splattering behind the body. Skin from the face fell across the doe’s neck, and for a moment it stood, headless, destroyed, disgusting, _wrong_ , and then the body thumped to the floor.

He heaved in a breath before lifting his chin and spitting. He ran a hand across his eyes just once, no need to ask why. “Damn thing talkin’ too much.”

“So I’ve been told.”

Sarge sidestepped, turned, and took three steps back in automatic movements. His foot caught on a hoof. He ignored it, staring instead at the very same doe once again looking back at him. “What in the Sam Hill?”

“Maybe you should actually pop a shot off like that in Grif’s head.” It cackled, low and casual. “It’s funny how you talk about it. And how you always know exactly how many bullets are in the chamber if you do fire a shot. Lots of big talk from a man so afraid of losing his friends that he creates a divide so wide that they can never and will never see you as an equal. Pretty lonely, isn’t it?” It shifted, stepped slowly back to its original place deeper in the cave. Sarge turned with it, shotgun at the ready, stepping out from the body as the creature moved toward it. He didn’t need to listen. He didn’t have to hear this. “I get it. You don’t want them to be your friends, even if you do. Too bad you’re so fucking crazy that you never really knew that. _And_ too bad that you’re so fucking crazy you can never admit it because you know that nobody will ever care about you the way they care about somebody else. Is that why you tried to turn Simmons against Grif? You were jealous that they could stand one another? That they could have a friendship, however fucking stupid and convoluted that friendship was?”

His finger was hovering over the trigger. The barrel was once again pointed between its eyes. 

It blinked, and lifted its head, extending its neck further.

It looked so soft, so vulnerable. So sweetly unafraid.

Sarge exhaled.

He rested the gun against his shoulder, turned on his heel, and left.

Donut caught up with Wash after about a minute of Wash wondering somewhat aimlessly by himself. He had just been following Sarge, and somehow the man had disappeared. Wash was a former _Freelancer_ , how the fuck did one old warbird just _disappear?_

“Wash!” Donut called before waving, stopping before him, and putting his hands on his hips. “Goodness! You are so slippery when you’re moving fast, and normally I’m not one to ask people to take it slower.”

Wash gave himself a second to breathe. “Right. I didn’t know you were comi-- joining. Joining me.” Goddammit. “I lost Sarge somehow. And I don’t know where any caves are on this side of Iris, so--”

There was a shotgun blast.

Wash flinched, and Donut yelped and grabbed Wash’s arm.

“Shit,” said Wash, patting Donut once with his remaining arm. “Came from southeast. We need to--”

Donut was off.

“Go,” Wash finished. Then he took after Donut, tapping him on the shoulder once and angling his head in the right direction.

The cave wasn’t exactly in clear view, but Wash wasn’t certain as to how he could have missed it before. Then again, he wasn’t over here too often, instead sticking close to the bases most of the time.

Sarge walked out of the cave, shotgun in hand. His expression was entirely neutral.

Donut muttered a barely audible, “Shit.”

“Sarge?” said Wash. “What ha--”

“Damn thing can’t die,” he said, and shook his head. “Damn thing can’t die.”

“Are you… okay?”

Sarge’s face morphed into something else, and then he gave Wash a nasty look. “Of course I’m okay! But the damn thing can’t die, and we gotta take care of it somehow. I’m thinkin’ of putting it in a one-way rocket to outer space! A real ‘sayonara, sucker’ to--”

“All great ideas, Sarge,” said Donut. “But did it do something? Besides not die?”

Sarge huffed. “Sure does blabber ‘bout loads of nothin’!”

“I’m gonna go in,” said Wash.

“What! If you go in, at least let me come wi--”

“I’m going alone, Donut, but thank you. You stay out here with Sarge.” He probably heard whatever was unspoken there. Sarge seemed… off. “I’ll be back in just a bit. Okay?”

“This seems like a bad idea, Wash,” Donut continued. “You… it sounds like its manipulative about fears and… I don’t know if you should go in at all.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I can get it to leave.”

The look Donut gave was almost pitiful.

Wash sighed. “Look, I’m just gonna try to figure out what it’s doing here. If it talks, then maybe it can reason.”

“It doesn’t know reason,” Sarge growled.

“... Okay. Uh, Donut, if I… yell or something, go get Lina for me.”

Donut stared at him for several moments, and Wash was close to some kind of panicked reversal on his words when Donut simply nodded and dipped his chin. “Be careful,” he said.

It looked like that would be the best he would get.

Wash walked inside, turning on his flashlight as he did so. The path seemed mostly straightforward, and he kept going. Confined spaces weren’t ideal, but he could easily live through it. That was something he’d been immediately drilled out of before becoming a Freelancer. At least the results were somewhat helpful on that end.

He kept going. There wasn’t any more light from the entrance reaching in, the spaces not illuminated by his flashlight pitched wholly in darkness. 

“I think all of you are masochists,” said a voice. “I don’t have to go scare you. You come here to suffer.”

Wash angled his flashlight around. “Not exactly,” he said. It sounded so… human. “It’s more that we want answers.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

The light landed on a pair of eyes, and after a second, he made out what looked to be a deer. “I thought you were a snake?”

It huffed, and padded forward a few steps.

Wash glanced at something on the floor, turned the light downward, and made out what appeared to be a carcass that looked identical to the deer in front of him, sans head.

“Simmons is scared of snakes. That was for him. Sarge works differently. So do you. I just wasn’t expecting you to come here so soon.” Its gaze followed Wash’s, and it stepped back. “Ah, right. Sarge shot me in the face. I didn’t see it coming, to be honest. But he still couldn’t do it twice. Would you like to know what I told him? Surely you noticed that something was off about him. I wouldn’t say that he’s a fan of mine.”

The sick thing was, part of Wash was tempted to know. And this… deer probably knew that as well, and just wanted to make Wash feel bad about himself.

Or he was projecting. 

Either way, it apparently wasn’t sure how to handle Wash. Or, at least, it had nothing to turn into. So Wash had the element of surprise on it. Good. “I don’t want to know what you told Sarge. I want to know what you’re doing here.”

It padded closer to him with a hum. “Curiosity kills the cats, you know.”

Wash huffed despite himself. “Right. Sometimes, yeah. But not always.”

“I suppose you’re correct. Curiosity isn’t what killed Loki. Old age did that, right?”

It sounded like it was genuinely wondering. So it didn’t know everything, not really. Wash had certainly overheard Simmons’ panic over what all it knew, but he was glad to figure out that there were some limitations. “Yeah,” he said. “Loki lived a long life. And you--”

It stepped closer and started to slowly circle him. “I don’t know why I’m here. Does that answer your question?”

“I…” Wash frowned. Part of him was tempted to reach out and stroke the dark fur as it kept circling. “You don’t know? How wouldn’t you know?”

“I’m more an embodiment of a concept than an individual, David. I don’t need to know why I’m here. I don’t need to know how I got here. I’m here, and now I do as I like.” It kept circling, just out of reach. Wash stopped trying to follow it with his eyes and turned his flashlight upward.

There seemed to be some flaw of logic in this thing. “The embodiment of what concept? Fear? If that were the case--”

“Then you’d be afraid right now? That’s not how it works.”

“And that wasn’t what I was about to say.”

“How have those nightmares been, by the way?”

“They’re nightmares. I’m used to it. Surely you knew that, right?”

He felt the movement stop. “I suppose I did. But you are still suffering from them.”

“I suffered when I found out how many of my friends were dead. I suffered when I had to give up everything I was to become a monster. I suffered when a program killed itself in my head to avoid its own trauma and drove me insane. Nightmares are nothing. Concepts are nothing.”

The cave felt briefly like static. “So you say.”

It was on its heels. Something had gotten to it, but what? “That I do.”

The movement began again, and then there was a head in front of him connected to a long, slender neck. Oh. Snake.

Wash didn’t really like snakes, either. But there were certainly worse things.

“You do know what happens when people stop sleeping. It’s happened to you. You called yourself a monster and say you went insane. It’s a little thing, but… how much sleep did you get then? How were those nightmares? What did you fuel yourself with to get away from them? You’re dangerous when you’re afraid, David, because it’s easier. And you’re afraid of sleeping, which makes you vulnerable.” Its voice had deepened with the change of form, and now its head cocked to the side. Wash took a breath. He understood why Simmons was afraid. There was a certain uncanniness here. The appearance was one thing, and Wash was almost inclined to think that if it had chosen to be invisible, maybe it would have had better luck with him. The words alone were the problem.

He shone the flashlight right into its eyes, and they squinted into slits. “You’re trying to scare me about my sleeping habits.”

“I don’t have to scare you. You’re already afraid. One bad nightmare and you know you may accidentally kill someone. We both know what your paranoia has done in the past. We both know what it almost did when you saw Tucker appear in the middle of the night.”

He kept his expression neutral. “He was having nightmares, too. We did laundry. I left.” He crossed his arms. “Nothing happened.”

Its head moved closer, and Wash tried to ignore the feeling of being dwarfed. He risked a glance around him and saw that its body was circling his in two thick, muscled layers. “David,” it said, sounding amused. “You almost snapped his neck.”

His body felt too tight. He clenched his fists, only to release them as the thing’s eyes snapped toward the movement. “I didn’t kill Tucker. I _wouldn’t_.”

“Not on purpose, obviously. But those nightmares really are getting to you. And everyone else, of course, but the target is you.”

He steadied his breathing. He was fine. “What?”

“Everyone is having nightmares because I wanted you to have nightmares. I can’t complain. It’s fun to see what happens when the others do, too.” It did a slow motion with its head, almost like it was drawing a figure-8 with its snout. “For someone who’s apparently used to nightmares, you’re pretty shit at dealing with them.”

Wash wanted to kill it, to set it on fire. He’d been better with self-control, certainly over the past several years. He didn’t need this. “What are you doing here?” he repeated, some of the desperation coming through.

Its body slid around him until he was no longer surrounded. “Letting you go, if you want. Try not to kill anyone.”

There were a million things it could have said, could have done.

It looked like it was smiling.

“Shit,” said Wash. This was a bad idea. He knew it was a bad idea, but he thought… he thought he knew what to expect. Evidently, he’d been wrong.

Something needed to be done. This thing needed to be taken care of somehow, and killing it wasn’t an option.

“I’m not a monster,” he said. “You are. Though I imagine you already knew that.”

It lowered its head, now eye-level with Wash. “Yes,” it said. “That, I already did.”

“I can’t believe we had two Iowans on Red Team and didn’t even realize it!” Donut said, shaking his head whilst beaming at Sarge. The man looked grumpy, but it wasn’t the sad blankness of before, so Donut was inclined to give himself some credit here. “Though I can’t say I’ve been to Moscow! A pretty small place, by the sounds of it. I myself grew up on a farm, though I think I’ve gone a round with all you men about _that_ before! Did I ever tell you that--” He spied Wash stepping out of the cave and couldn’t help but feel a small bit of relief. Donut did _not_ want to bring news to everyone that Wash had died horribly while him and Sarge were having a ball of a chat just outside. “Washington! Thank goodness you made it. Did you learn anything?” 

Wash… looked somewhat out of it. Donut didn’t yet know him well enough to say anything conclusively. But this was certainly no good. 

“Donut. Sarge.” Wash tipped his head at both of them. “It doesn’t seem to know why it’s here. And it said that it’s just having fun.” His eyes locked on Donut. “There’s something off about it. Something it doesn’t want us to push, but I can’t place it.”

Donut stared back, pursing his lips. “Well, I _am_ great at pushing! Are you wanting me to check out the thing?”

“The… thing. Yes. Sarge and I will… report back on what we learned. Right?”

Sarge huffed. “Fine. Gotta let everyone know not even a shotgun bullet to the noggin can take it out.”

“Right. Be careful, Donut. It doesn’t hurt anyone, by the sounds of it, but… Just be careful.”

Donut smiled at him reassuringly. He wasn’t sure if he should be flattered or concerned that Wash was trusting him like this, especially after he’d warned Wash not to go in alone. It could mean a couple things, but Donut was intent on keeping his spirits high! Hopefully the creature wasn’t _too_ much of a party-pooper.

“Before you go.” Wash outstretched a hand to reveal a flashlight. “It gets pretty dark in there.”

Donut grabbed the flashlight and gave Wash’s shoulder a single squeeze. “Thank you.”

With that, he turned on his heel and began strolling inside.

Simmons had seemed like he was the most petrified about everything, but Donut also knew just how scared he was of those wriggly little creatures. Besides! Simmons wasn’t the… well, the _most_ adept at dealing with any kind of emotion, so that probably had something to do with it! But boy, the fear from Grif and Sarge? Well, he couldn’t be sure that Sarge was _scared_ \-- the man sure did hide a lot -- but it sure did look like it. What possibly could the creature have turned into to scare Sarge? Or even Wash? As far as Donut knew, neither of them had animal phobias. So did it turn into people from their pasts? Donut would _not_ like to see that, but he would endure as necessary. 

But how interesting that there was a creature that could turn into fears. It sounded so complicated -- fear was a complicated thing, after all! But everyone said it could talk, so… hm. Maybe that was closer to the truth of it.

It was pretty dark in here; Wash had been right about that. The deeper he went, the darker it got, but that seemed pretty par for the course. “Sticks and stones may break my bones,” Donut sang, glancing around, eyes keen and careful despite the carelessness in his voice, “but _words_ \--”

“Hurt you if they come from a particularly cruel ex? Let’s be honest here, Franklin.”

Donut turned the light to the voice. A large, lean snake, just as Simmons had said. “I’m sure we both know I am nothing short of honest,” he chastised. Wash had said it probably wouldn’t cause physical harm -- or, at least, he implied that. Donut would hope for the best and expect the worst, hence the grenade he had on him, ready to discharge. 

But Wash had gotten under its skin somehow in some way. Donut hadn’t pressed what, as Wash looked to be in no state for that. Donut, however, could be very good with his words. Even if the thing he was sharing words with was a very big snake. “Well?” Donut continued when it didn’t respond.

“Well,” it parroted, shifting closer, watching him, assessing. 

Nothing to say after that first little quip? “You have a lovely voice,” Donut said, relaxing his stance, weight moving to his left hip. “Just thought you should know.”

“Must you always resort to flirting and innuendos when making conversation?”

“Must you always resort to jabs on fear and insecurities?” Donut grinned. “Because I think you can’t help it. At least we have that in common.”

It snorted in what seemed like amusement, and Donut couldn’t help but feel the grin become more genuine. 

Nothing this thing could say would be something he hadn’t heard before. Maybe it knew this. Maybe that was why it had tried to go too hard too quickly with the jab about Ryan. Ryan had all the fodder and still never broke him. This snake-thing wouldn’t be any different. “What’s your name?” Donut asked.

“My name?”

“That’s what I said, isn’t it? You know all of ours, it’s only polite that we know yours.”

It had to know that Donut knew it couldn’t do anything to him. Not beyond those nightmares, but he was handling those even better than most.

It receded into the cave somewhat, hovering near a doe carcass. Ew -- Donut was half-tempted to kick it out of sight, if only because he was beginning to notice the smell. He’d hit his fair share of deer back in Iowa. “Mm,” it said. “I don’t know.”

“Oh, now, that’s a bit sad, don’t you think? Did you forget it, or do you not have one? Because it sounds like the former, if you don’t _know_. Since, well. That implies you’ve had one. Right?”

Its slender eyes narrowed. “It doesn’t imply anything.”

“And that implies you’re a liar.”

It scoffed now. “Some bite to that tongue, I see.”

“What? You’re a fan?”

The snake hissed now, low and predatorial, and Donut was quickly reminded that this thing was more than just a voice. “You’re simply glad you’re being trusted now rather than forgotten. Trusted to come here with me. But you’re just as quickly expendable.”

“That’s just my low self-esteem speaking! I’ve been working on that. It sounds like maybe you need to, too, because _I_ think you’re projecting!”

“You--”

“You don’t even remember your name, for Pete’s sake!” Donut clucked his tongue. “You’re supposed to be scary and fear-inducing, right? But you’re just a big ol’ snake. I’ve seen plenty of those in my time already!”

“I am _not_ just a sna--”

“Animals don’t tend to inspire the most fear, as I’m sure you know. _People_ do. And I think you and I both know that there are plenty of people who could have scared any one of us so far much more than whatever you are now. _Even_ with Simmons’ phobia.”

For a moment, there was only silence. Then, “You’re smarter than you let on, Donut.”

“And you’re only good with manipulating the fears you’re familiar with. Isn’t that right?”

It released a long sigh, then its body shifted, a heavy mass against the already dark interior of the cave. It blocked Donut’s exit, but even then, he didn’t feel afraid. “Fear, as you know, is a complicated thing. I may be a form of manifestation of it, but I have limitations.”

If there was one thing Donut was good at, that was cracking tough nuts. “Limitations in what you know and can become? You can’t turn human?”

“... I can. But I only have one form for every creature I become. I can’t turn into Simmons’ nor Sarge’s fathers, for example.” It dipped its head and looked at Donut sidelong. “Everyone here has daddy issues, I’ll have you know.”

“Some more than most!” Donut quipped.

“Depends on your definition of ‘daddy’,” it quipped back. Then, “Shit.”

“I rub off on people.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“All you had to do was ask nicely! Now, how about we--”

The snake’s whole body stiffened, the air in the room going rigid in tandem. _Fuck_. He’d been making progress. “We’re having a party here today, aren’t we?” it said toward the entrance, but Donut could already tell it was no longer relaxed, not after what it sounded like when it was.

Why was it doing this? Simmons said it liked scaring people, and Wash said it was having fun, but Donut got the impression it was lashing out because it was afraid. Not an excuse, but an explanation. It was an animal, and seemed to see itself as such, given that it refused to turn human.

And it didn’t want more people coming in. Maybe it didn’t want people here at all; it was trying to scare them away, not keep them coming. It must’ve had a pretty thorough misunderstanding about the lack of common sense for the Reds and Blues.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised,” it said to the entrance. Donut couldn’t see around its body, didn’t know who this next visitor was. “Are you hoping for strength in numbers, even after I turned Grif and Simmons to jelly?”

“Where’s Donut?” came Wash’s voice. He sounded cool, steady. “I know he came in here.”

“I ate him,” it purred.

Before the lie could get too far -- Donut could already hear a soft gasp that hopefully wasn’t Caboose -- Donut jumped and waved his hands. “No, no! Still alive, still standing! We were just chatting.” Then he moved closer, up to the length of the long body that was currently blocking him in, but putting himself now in view of the others. Oh, wow. Everyone was here. Even Simmons, with his shaking knees. “Excuse me,” Donut said, patting the body in front of him. The width was about four feet; a jump Donut _could_ make, or simply climb over, but he’d rather not, if only for a show of good faith from the snake.

The snake glared at him and didn’t budge.

Donut withheld a sigh. So much for that progress.

With an exaggerated grunt, he clambered over the body and to the side with everyone else. He then paced to the front of the group and lifted his hands in a placating gesture. “We aren’t going to hurt you, you--”

“Speak for yourself!” Sarge interrupted, cocking his shotgun. 

In response, the snake reared its head, hissed, then its dark muscles began shifting in the darkness, moving form into--

“Oh, fuck me,” Grif sputtered from behind.

A bat. A big, black fruit bat that was actually quite cute, were it not for the fact that it was baring its teeth at Sarge. “Try it again,” it spat. “Go ahead.”

“Sarge,” Carolina said, lifting a hand. Her eyes were still fixated on the bat, her jaw working.

Donut worried his bottom lip and looked around -- he didn’t want to say anything to upset it, but--

Caboose marched up to stand next to Carolina. “You scared the animals. You’re a bully.”

Its sharp eyes searched the whole group, lingering on Grif, who was still standing his ground, before finally making their way to Caboose and Carolina. “You say that like you haven’t caused your fair share of pain, Caboose.” Its tone was venomous, and then its gaze moved to Carolina. “Like your _friends_ haven’t done the same. I mean,” it continued, leaning back, and with it, turning into a doe -- the body resembling that of the carcass -- “what’s some fear compared to death? Torture? Do you know?”

“We know,” Carolina growled.

“I’m sure you think you do,” it snapped back. “But you still don’t. Not really.”

“And you do?” Her tone wavered, and Donut saw Caboose shoot her a concerned look that she missed. Donut swallowed his own concern, glancing to Wash. 

Wash’s jaw was set, his eyes calculating. He was figuring something out, though Donut didn’t know what. Tucker’s hand was at his elbow, a small, almost unnoticeable, comfort.

Grif and Simmons were still holding one another. Kai’s arms were crossed in front of her chest next to Sarge.

They were all supporting one another.

Good.

He felt a small surge of pride in his chest. _Good._

The deer didn’t respond, just huffing air out its nostrils.

“You do,” Donut said. His voice was barely more than a whisper. He stepped closer now, hand hovering in front of him. The deer huffed out twice now, rapid, anxious breaths, and took a single step back. Donut continued forward, muttering, “It’s all right.” Then he pressed his hand against its snout, the dark fur soft beneath his fingers, warm, full of life. “You’re working with what you remember, aren’t you? And what you remember is being afraid.”

“What the fuck is happening?” he heard Tucker say from behind, but Caboose hushed him. It was gentle this time; not the angry, abrupt tone he’d had this morning.

It leaned into his touch, those eyes, reflected with green, going closed. Relaxed.

Donut heard rather than saw as Carolina moved up to stand next to him. After a pause, she shook her head. “I… I don’t get it. What happened? What changed?”

Donut rubbed his thumb against the nose. It took a half-step closer. “There was a misunderstanding,” he said. “This one was being a jerk for no good reason.”

“I remember more than that,” it said suddenly.

Donut started, pulling his hand back in reflex, and it lifted its head, opening its eyes once more. 

“Remember more than what?” Carolina said. Her hand was hovering by her waist, but otherwise, her stance was deceptively casual.

It looked between them, searching. Then past them. “I’m… I’m not sure. But I remember you.”

Donut looked back in time to see Wash sigh deeply. Then he lifted his head, gave Tucker’s hand a quick, thankful pat, stepped forward and said, “You remembered what happened. What I said was a bit too familiar, wasn’t it?”

The deer didn’t respond, didn’t blink. Its ear twitched.

Wash’s gaze softened, and he seemed to resign into himself. “There are better ways to recover memories than reliving trauma, you know. I would think you’d be the expert by now.” He looked to Donut. “Don’t you agree?”

Donut pursed his lips, nodded tightly. Caboose and Carolina were watching the exchange; Caboose hesitant and reserved, Carolina curious and wary. “I agree,” Donut finally said. He angled his head to the deer. “How about we start with a name?”

The deer shook its head, walked back several paces. “I’ve already told David as much. I’m not an individual, not really. _He_ knows I’m a monster. I’m--”

“Epsilon,” Wash finished. The whole room seemed to freeze. “You’re Epsilon.”

Carolina’s brows drew in, her mouth forming the beginning of a question, before she glared and turned her anger toward the deer.

Which, in those brief moments, had turned into a person. 

Carolina made a soft, choked sound. If Church heard it, he made no indication. His gaze was angled downward, blank. His arms hung loosely at his sides.

“... Church?”

Church’s head shifted, the name registering, the _voice_ registering. “Maybe,” he said. His voice was soft and so, so familiar, even if that hesitance, that vulnerability wasn’t. He still wasn’t looking up. “But maybe not, Caboose. At least, not anymore.”

A sob echoed through the cave.

Everyone turned to Carolina. 

Tears were streaming down from her bright eyes, her arms were shaking, her _jaw_ was shaking, hands balled into fists. She didn’t hide anything as she said, behind the wet mucus and tears, “ _You fucking asshole_.”

Church only had time to glance up, his eyes widening almost comically, and he yelped a surprised, “Lina!” before Carolina was tackling him into a hug, pressing her face into his shoulder, and spinning him in a circle.

“You fucking asshole,” she repeated. Then she dropped him. Looked him over once. Punched him in the shoulder, hard.

His face twisted to an annoyed snarl as he instinctively moved his hand over the spot, and still Donut couldn’t help but want to ask Church if, hey, maybe he was a furry?

He didn’t ask, though, as now probably wasn’t the most ideal moment to do so. 

But he rubbed his arms and looked over to everyone else. This would be messy, sure. But it was a mess he’d be happy to help work through.

Epsilon. Church. Both felt familiar -- both _were_ him, he could tell -- but still so unnatural, so foreign. 

He swallowed as he hugged his arms around his midsection, taking a step away from Lina. There had been so much -- so much feeling, so much emotion, so much of something raw and strange like fear but not fear, maybe something like love _and_ fear. He couldn’t place it, not in its entirety. Certainly not while he was still operating as he was, logging everyone here by what they were afraid of, what their weaknesses were, how he could use them to make them finally leave. So he could finally rest.

He wouldn’t rest, he knew. There would always be something else. Still: it was a nice thought.

Lina _(abandonment, disappointing Dad, disappointing Mom, losing them again, losing everyone again, my fault, not good enough to stop it, not good enough, falling back into again, not someone they can trust, I hurt them and I’ll do it again even if I don’t want to--)_ \--

He took a breath. _Epsilon_ took a breath. This was Lina.

He did the best to ignore everything running through his head, all the loops and warning signs, the indicators to where she was weak, what he could use against her. He couldn’t stop seeing them, couldn’t stop using them -- was too afraid to stop, to let go, to leave himself undefended.

But for now, he would breathe. This was Lina.

He was important to her. She may have been important to him.

She was emotional, vulnerable, hurt and angry, wanting something from him.

Epsilon couldn’t remember what he was to her. Just that he’d cared for her, and she’d cared for him. For a little bit, maybe they had suffered together. Maybe he’d--

Her father. _Their_ father -- or, rather, himself. Epsilon. But also not him.

Fuck. _Fuck_ This didn’t make any fucking sense. 

He’d caused the hurt. But also, he hadn’t, even while he knew he had. He didn’t want it, had wanted it.

Epsilon shook his head. “Lina,” he said. “I don’t… I don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense.” Then he looked at her, her eyes a reflection of his own, and said, “I’m sorry. I…” 

She grabbed him by his shoulders, her grip stronger than it looked, and shook him once, twice. “ _Epsilon_ ,” she said, the syllables still wet. 

And then there was fear. Fear in _(it’s not him, it’s not Epsilon, it’s a thing pretending to be him to feed on us, to scare us, and I’m falling for it, I’m putting us all in danger because I thought this was real and--)_

“I can’t prove it,” he said. “I-- I can’t. I… they could be wrong.” The names were right somehow, but he was still a monster. Any moment now, he could shift, remind them of that, give them something to be afraid of. “But you’re, uh…” He felt his features tighten and pull as he tried to think of something, anything, as he looked around, then said, “My sister? Maybe? I don’t-- I really have no fucking idea because this doesn’t make any sense because I also keep feeling like I’m also you’re dad which is kind of weird and--”

Lina’s face scrunched up, and she shook her head. “Just-- just stop for a second.”

“Her dad?” Tucker muttered. He was staring at Epsilon, expression confused and yet still shielded, untrusting. _(It’ll happen again, just like with Temple, and that can’t happen. Not now, not ever again, and this can’t be him, it just can’t be Church because I felt him d--)_

He could get flashes with every fear; and there was so much fear surrounding him. It collected in shattered pieces, creating an expectation for what had happened in his life before, what he had done before, what they were afraid he may do now. All of it fair. All of it based on experience.

With every memory, another one of those pieces collected within his mind, too -- it wasn’t clean, coming together and creating a picture; instead still wholly fragmented.

But he was remembering much now, and he wasn’t sure if he still wanted them to go away, to run off, to treat him like the monster he was, or if he wanted something else. It was impossible to tell.

Caboose had been right. He was a bully. And Wash had been right. He was a monster.

He stumbled back, deeper into the cave, eyes wide as he stared at all of them, still gathered before him like a small army. His chest fluttered, tightened, that fear of _so many of them_ rising again to the surface.

He couldn’t do this.

“I’m--” he said, cutting himself short at the waver in his voice. His legs wanted to run, but at the same time he now felt frozen.

Lina was using the butts of her palms to wipe away the tears, sniffling heavily, mouth quivering as she tried to steady herself.

“... Church?”

His eyes landed on Caboose again, and this time, he couldn’t look away. He could still feel his fear, his hurt, less sharp and less defined than before; more confused. Fear for him, for _Epsilon_. For Church.

He wanted to say something sharp, something barbed to make Caboose stop looking at him like that, but the best he could manage was a pained hum.

Caboose moved past Donut, who seemed less afraid now and more giddy, of all things, and stepped by Lina as well, walking straight up to Epsilon. “Are you evil now?” he asked.

Evil like Omega, like Sigma. Evil like the Director. Evil like he had the capacity to be.

Caboose brown eyes softened and, with slow care, he grabbed one of Epsilon’s hands.

He didn’t know what to say. Part of him wanted to tell Caboose yes, if only to get them away, to make them leave. They couldn’t trust him, _shouldn’t_ trust him. He didn’t know if he’d be lying, either. “I’m…” he looked down. Then he lifted his chin up, trying to match the intensity in the man’s eyes. “I’m… sorry, Caboose.”

“Thank you,” said Caboose.

It wasn’t forgiveness. Which was fair; he didn’t deserve it, not now. Even still, he felt the pang of selfish hurt against his sternum.

“You aren’t evil,” Caboose announced. “You’ve just been really dumb.”

Epsilon made a face at that, even if he didn’t refute the point. He’d lied enough already.

“I can maybe help you to be less dumb, if everyone else is okay with that.”

He tensed again as Caboose released him and looked over his shoulder at the others.

Kai just shrugged, casual, but her eyes were still wary. Sarge’s shotgun was resting against his shoulder, anger laced within his tense muscles. But it was receding now, as his line of thinking shifted, crafting into something more empathetic. “Fine,” he snapped.

Epsilon still didn’t deserve it. He also hadn’t agreed to it.

“Of course,” Donut cooed as Grif and Simmons looked to each other, nodded, before Grif turned to Caboose and said, “Whatever.”

Tucker sighed. “Dude, just be careful. We still don’t know… We can’t trust i-- him.” But apparently he trusted Caboose enough to make that call.

“If you try anything again, I’ll make sure you regret it,” Wash said. He was smiling, the iciness of it coming from something before, harkening back and away from a gentleness he so often leaned on now. He was still dangerous, Wash seemed to be telling him, even if Epsilon couldn’t properly die. A small curse in itself.

“I will, too,” Lina tacked on. Her voice was no longer wet or unsure. 

They still didn’t know who or what they were dealing with. They didn’t know if he was lying or manipulating them. But for whatever stupid fucking reason, they were still wanting to try.

“Okay,” said Caboose. He took a deep breath, then looked back down at Epsilon. He tried not to shift under the weight of the gaze. “Okay,” he repeated.

“I didn’t agree to this,” he said, putting in as much bite as he could manage.

Caboose pursed his lips as though he were disappointed in the attempt, and Church felt his cheeks flush red. “Church,” he said firmly. “Do you want to learn to be less dumb?”

Tucker snorted. Wash shot him an unimpressed look.

“I still don’t even-- I don’t remember what I’m-- God, _fuck_ ,” he said, snarling and spinning on his heel, pulling at his hair. By instinct, he shifted again, this time into a wolf; something with teeth and danger. He could protect himself.

Donut whispered something about him being furry now, by the sounds of it, and this time, Lina was the one snorting.

He ignored it, turning around to look at Caboose again, haunches and the fur along his spine raised. Caboose was still a bit taller than him like this, but his eyes were now completely round, and Epsilon could fucking tell Caboose wanted to pet him. 

Annoyance embroiled with genuine amusement.

Fuck him. Fuck him and the fact that Epsilon actually liked him, liked this feeling. 

“I can help you remember again,” Caboose said, his words slow, like he was trying hard to focus. “I have helped you before, and you were kinda mean then, but I can help you again while you are not a soccer ball, and maybe you will be less mean and also remember things, too. But I tell very good stories.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Epsilon.

“Do you want help?”

He huffed, pacing in a quick circle, his tail wagging low and anxious once. “Fine,” he said. “You can help.”

“You sound so gracious,” Tucker drawled sarcastically.

“Shut the fuck up, Tucker,” he bit back.

“Eh, whatever man. You’re Caboose’s problem now. Hopefully you're a better pet than the last few he’s had.”

“I’m not a pet,” he defended in a whine.

“Sure you aren’t,” said Tucker.

Epsilon bared his teeth at him.

“Bad Church,” said Caboose. “No.”

“Yeah,” said Tucker with a shit-eating grin. “Bad Church.”

He was half-tempted to turn into a big spider to scare a ton of them, Tucker included, but managed to resist the itch and simply turned back human, glaring and crossing his arms. “I hate this.”

“Sure you do,” said Lina.

He ducked his head.

He still didn’t deserve this, but he couldn’t deny that he wanted it. Wanted whatever these people had, whatever _he’d_ once had beyond the constant thrumming of fear and pain and fear and--

“Thank you,” he said, not even sure if it was loud enough for Caboose to hear.

“You have to help me get the animals back,” said Caboose. 

Epsilon ducked his head further, the guilt still hitting him hard. He’d done that, and he hadn’t been lying about that particular aspect to Grif and Simmons: he’d had fun with it. “I can do that.”

“Good. And you will say you’re sorry to all of them.”

At least he hadn’t eaten them. “Right,” he said, the syllable long.

Everything about this would take a while. A very long while, frankly. He was still a stranger in many ways, still a weird manifestation off of fear, still not sure why he even existed in the first place, let alone like… well, like whatever he was. 

After another moment, Epsilon added a small, “Thank you, Michael.”

Then he was enveloped in yet another hug, his legs squished into his sides, face pressed against Caboose’s as he spun him around enough times that he was a little bit dizzy by the time Caboose released him, and had to hold onto his arm to steady himself, face reddening impossibly further as he tried to pretend he didn't feel any of whatever he _was_ feeling because it was a bit too much to examine at this point.

“You’re welcome, Church-Epsilon!” said Caboose.

Right.

This was going to be… fine. It was gonna be fine.

“Are you a furry?” Donut asked just as Caboose said, “You make a very cute dog!”

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. Right. Perfectly fucking fine.

**Author's Note:**

> took the bgc logic of "everyone loves donut" because it's fucking true


End file.
